


A Cut Above the Rest

by Grandeur (Megane)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Cannibalism, Comedy, Hint at Backstory, Honestly who doesn't?, In-game lore, Plotting, Secret Organizations, Sierra Hates Mr. House, Spoilers, Trans Female Character, Unsavoury Deals and Affiliations, quest spoilers, thrill seeking, white glove society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 11:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15266664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Grandeur
Summary: Sierra's on a quest from Nellis Base to the Strip. It's a trip she's used to taking at this point, so it doesn't bother her. But at the Ultra-Luxe Casino, she gets more than she initially expected.





	A Cut Above the Rest

The Ultra-Luxe Casino was unnaturally beautiful in Sierra’s eyes. She had been to a lot of places in the Mojave, but she could tell that this place _truly_ dripped decadence, especially in a way that Mr. House didn’t. Mr. House was a rich man who liked to flaunt his wealth and used his riches as a way to control the world. _‘Instead of, you know, reasonably contributing to and bettering this hellhole,’_ Sierra thought bitterly. _‘But I guess to him, that’s one and the same.’_

She sighed heavily and shoved thoughts of Mr. House out of the way. Touchy subject. She wasn’t here for that. She turned her attention back to the fountain and the beautiful building just behind it. It was weird… The casino looked as if it was untouched by time. _‘It had to have been here before the bombs dropped,’_ she thought, _‘and damn… It looks like it.’_

     Sierra hesitated a step around the fountain. She pulled the skin off her lip as she walked around it. “Oh, right. Who am I here for again?” She flipped through the notes on her Pip-Boy as she headed towards the stairs.

_Find a man named Mortimer; he works with the White Glove Society at the Ultra-Luxe Casino._

_I’ve heard that they have an ‘overstock of brahmin meat’ there. God, if that ain’t the biggest  
__insult I’ve ever heard… How can someone have an overstock of brahmin meat? That’s a blessing!_  
     Not a complaint.

“Right?” Sierra muttered to herself.

_See if you can trade with them. Tell them Madeline at Nellis Air Base is looking to move on up and has  
     good connections to make it worth their while. Hopefully, you’ll come back with good news. _

_And… be careful. I’ve heard some unsavoury rumours about the WGS. Dunno if there’s any stock in it, so I won’t weigh_  
_you down with hearsay. But, just take my word for it, alright? Get in, get out. Do what I need you to do. Don’t get mixed_  
_up in anything else._

     “Now you just made it tempting, Mads.” Sierra smirked to herself as she climbed up the stairs towards one massive set of double doors. _‘Light stairs? Impressive front doors? Heh, for the right people, this could be paradise.’_ As soon as she entered, the impressed feeling she carried in her chest completely blossomed into awe. She had been in a lot of casinos. This was no different, but this place was—

     “Beg your pardon,” came a voice.

     “AH!” Sierra startled in place and looked down towards a tuxedoed man wearing a mask.

     “—But could I trouble you to remove your weapons?”

     “Wha– I… Dammit.” Sierra sucked her teeth and began walking down the stairs. “Just ruin my daydreaming, why don’t you. What is it? What do you want?” she snapped when she was within range.

     “Welcome to the Ultra-Luxe Casino. To assure and maintain the safety of everyone here, I kindly request that you had over your weapons.”

Sierra stared at him before looking around the casino and examining the patrons. It was easy to pick out who worked here and who didn’t, thanks to the masks; though, there were mostly Wastelanders. Sierra squinted her eyes when she noticed a man who was none too bashfully holding a shotgun not too far from where the greeter stood. She looked back to the man and cocked her head towards the side.

     “What about him?”

     The greeter turned, and though there was no sound, his body relaxed and straightened with a sigh. “He’s a… _special_ guest. Typically, the rules stand for all patrons, but he has a special clearance.”

     “Ah, yeah? And how do I get ‘special clearance?’”

     “Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to say.”

     “Uh-huh.” She reached up and removed the machetes attached on her back. Instead of undoing the holsters, she unsheathed the weapons and held them out for the greeter. “If anything happens to my things, you’ll pay for it.”

     He took the knives gingerly. “I assure you, ma’am. Nothing will happen to your belongings in the time you’re here. They will be safely returned to you upon your exit.”

     “Mhm,” she hummed, kneeling down and searching herself for other weapons. She didn’t believe him a wick, but if he wanted to take her stuff, he could have them. He’d have to take them off the floor first. She happily left a small pile at his feet before taking off into the rest of the casino with a grin.

     “Enjoy your stay, ma’am,” the greeter called after her, unamused and irritated.

Hearing his tone only made Sierra laugh to herself. “Oh, I will!” she said. She touched down on the checker-patterned floor and didn’t know which direction to go floor. Since it was a circle, she’d just inevitably end up where she started, but the first impression was always the best one to her. She side glanced to the left where the man with the gun was. In order not to be too obvious, she went around the right first.

Bartender, card table… Travelers and merchants… Nothing and no one stuck out as interesting, save the guy with the gun. Of course. No matter how ‘elite’ some place was, it was always filled with the same old, same old. Disappointed, Sierra continued around the bar until a hand reached out for her. She jumped back out of reflex and almost reached for the butterfly knife hidden in her rip-away pocket. Remembering where she was, she just barely managed to stop herself. Instead, she glared at an old man wearing a cowboy hat.

     “Well, I didn’t mean to scare ya none, darlin’. I was just wonderin’: you’re not from around here, are ya?”

     Sierra stared at him for a moment and then relaxed. “No, actually. I’m a courier. Just doing my rounds, yeah?”

     “Yeah… I hear ya. Listen, the name’s Heck, Heck Gunderson, and my son’s gone missing in this here hotel. I know ya ain’t from here, but if you hear anything while you’re in the area, I’d appreciate it. His name’s Ted.”

     Sierra nodded slowly. “Right… Ted been missing long?”

     “Long enough for me to take notice. We ain’t been here long at all. He up and disappeared in an hour, and no one seems to know anything about it.”

Heck curled his fingers into a tight fist and turned his head away from Sierra. She flicked her gaze up towards the armed bodyguard, who was surveying the area. When their eyes met, the bodyguard nodded. Sierra did the same.

     “I hate this place,” Heck continued. The minute I stepped in the Strip, I smelled nothing but evil and depravity here. Now, I own a ranch where I’m from. I deal with all sorts’a people, but they can keep their wits about them. My boy ain’t never been off the ranch, y’see. I did my best to keep him at home. But I bring him here, and now what happens? I lose him in a place like _this!”_

Sierra did her best not to sigh or roll her eyes. In her peripheral, she noticed the bartender look their way as Heck’s voice raised. No one paid her any mind though. Heck kept on. As his tirade came to an end, Sierra tactfully prodded him to find out more about who he was. Why would a farmer come all the way out here? Who _was_ he that he even found himself affiliated with the Strip in the first place.

Heck was quick to inform her about his status as a brahmin rancher. He had brahmin, Bighorners, and even a bunch of land. Seemed… reasonable but not lavish enough that he belonged in a place like this. Understanding lit a bulb in her head, and she took a seat next to Mr. Heck Gunderson.

     “So,” she began, “you got arrangements with the hotel, I’m guessing?”

     “Yeah.” Heck gave her a look, sizing her up. “How’d you know?”

     “Heard about the White Glove Society’s plight with meat.” She upnodded towards the guard. “Plus, your guard’s got a gun. No one’s really allowed one of those.”

     “Well.” Heck drew in a deep breath as he straightened up. He hooked his thumbs in his waist and adjusted his pants. “They wanna do business with me they gotta play by _my_ rules. Lots of people out there resent success. Might wanna take a swipe at me.” With a sure nod, he placed his hands on the counter once again. “This makes ‘em think twice.”

     “Smart.” Sierra propped her head up against a curled fist. She stared at Heck through half lidded eyes. It was one of the stupidest names she had ever heard, but he was willing to strut it around proudly. She figured she’d be nice enough not to say anything. “So. About your son?”

     “Right, right… Well. We got here fine and all, but he was never one to stay tied in one spot. Got that from his momma. He went off wanderin’, and here I’m thinking he’s going to go to one of the tables. Heaven knows he got enough caps to entertain himself in a place like this. But then, I scout around and don’t see him nowhere.

     “Got most of my staff out looking for him. You’d think a ‘high class’ place like this would be willing to help a business partner, if not for the sake of their image.”

     “You’d think.” Sierra sat up straight and sighed through her nose. She slid off the barstool lazily. “But I’ll keep a look out, kay?”

     “Much obliged, young lady. I’d be more than happy to have you. Heck—” Sierra did her best not to roll her eyes. “I’d hire anyone with a pair of legs and at least one good eye at this point. There’d be a lot of money in it for you if you managed to get him back to me safe. And if he ain’t, you can bet I’ll pay for the names of the sons of bitches responsible.”

Sierra’s eyes widened. Not at the prospect of money. People like this were abundant in the Mojave, that much she knew, but for the aspect of divulging something _terrible_. A place like this with people so polite and proper? Some of them wearing masks and moving like robots? Why, she wouldn’t be surprised if they were kidnapping folks, brainwashing them, and adding them into their ranks. Okay, she’d be a little surprised. At least that’d be something she hadn’t heard of. The promise of caps did make it nice though. Suddenly, she felt more energised.

     “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

     Heck looked resigned; he deflated in his chair. “Much obliged, young lady. I really appreciate it.”

     “Yeah, yeah…” she said softly before turning on her heel. She began walking away from the casino and up the small flight of steps. When she was out of earshot, she said to herself, “Sheesh. Can’t go anywhere without hearing people’s life story. But that’s just how it is in the Mojave.” She sighed heavily. “Miserable place this is…”

She stopped at the landing and placed her hands on her hips. Where the… hell was she going. She probably should have asked the bartender for where this ‘Mortimer’ was, and she figured that the greeter wasn’t going to be forthcoming with information since she gave him a hard time. “Dammit,” she huffed before straying towards the greeter anyway. Maybe if she sweet-talked him, she could dust some of that salt out of his wounds and get a straight answer.

Sierra kept her ears peeled for any sounds coming from the open halls she passed by. Nothing stuck out as interesting—of course—but as she neared the greeter, she realised that she… really didn’t want to talk to him in the end. She laughed to herself, kicked up her right leg, and spun around. _‘Nope,’_ she thought as she headed towards the first door on her left.

Heading around the corners, she found the casino cashier. A masked man wearing a tux behind a protected counter. He turned his head when she entered the room, but he watched her as she rounded the greenery fenced off in the center of the room. Sierra stared at him too incredulously. When she made it to the other side of the room, she looked away from him and hurried through the door.

The doorway opened out into a lobby with a nautical—was it nautical? Or was this royal?—themed floor runner and recessed seating areas. The ceiling was vaulted, and the entire room was beautifully designed. She didn’t really take in her surroundings until now, but this place was… beautiful in an odd way. It was _immaculate_. There wasn’t dust or blood or broken anythings as far as she could see. Hell, there was flora here! And she couldn’t think of a single place all the Mojave that she had been to that was half as nice as this.

Again, Mr. House tried to be nice and fanciful, and sure, he succeeded to some extent, but this was on a whole different level.

     “May I help you?” a rich voice called out to her, inquisitive and beckoning. She wouldn’t call it ‘welcoming’, but the tone was still far kinder than she was used to.

     Sierra crossed the room and approached the man wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. A fucking top hat. _‘He looks ridiculous,’_ she thought quickly, giving his attire a glass eyed stare. _‘At least the women look nice. Hell, the men do too if only because they don’t have_ that _stupid thing on.’_

     Out loud she said, “I’m looking for Mortimer.”

     “I am he. And who are you?”

     “Man-e—” She started, resting her elbow on the counter. She curled her free hand in the air and scrunched her face as she fought back her initial introduction. “I mean, Sierra. Sir. I wanted to talk with you about a problem.”

     “A problem, you say?” He placed down the receipt book he had been scribbling in and rested his pencil upon it. “And what makes you think I have a problem?”

     Sierra lifted her head to stare blankly at him now. “Because I was _told_. There’s a woman in Nellis Base that wants to trade with you. She’s heard a rumour that you all have ‘too much brahmin’ meat, and she wants to see if you can help each other make ends meet.”

     “And what does she have to offer?”

     “Lot of trade. She’s got goods and supplies she could field to you, if the White Glove Society is in need.”

     “We do have a need, yes,” Mortimer said, almost sensually. Sierra recoiled a bit, sitting up properly. Mortimer either didn’t care or didn’t notice. He continued with, “But I fear that she wouldn’t be able to supply us with what we _truly_ wanted.”

     “And what could you _possibly_ want? I’m sure she’ll help.”

Mortimer gave her a _look_ , and it made her sick. She got that same look from Legionnaires. From Slavers trying to find new stock, from rabblemen trying to flood people into their underground fighting arenas, from NCR looking to recruit. She hated being _wanted_ , being sized up like somebody’s prize. Feeling disgust roil up in her, she tugged down the bandana around her mouth and showed her sharpened and well-spaced teeth. Mortimer looked to her and balked.

     “Listen, dandy,” she hissed. “I don’t like that look in your eyes, and if you’re a smart one, you’ll focus up.”

     There was a beat of silence, and then Mortimer raised a hand up to his mouth and stared at Sierra. “…Interesting,” was all he said for a long while. He took a moment to think and then brought his hand down from his mouth. “You know, you just might be what we’re looking for. Tell me, what do you know about the White Glove Society.”

     “Nothing, really. Not even rumours.”

     Mortimer gave a pleased smile. Sierra felt the urge to slap him. “Aah, of course. The White Glove Society has only recently made itself known to the public, but our pedigree has been established over generations. Were we always so refined?” He chuckled softly. “I’d be lying if I said yes. But, I’ve always felt we were destined for a place amongst modern society. And now, here we are.”

     “Here you are indeed.” Sierra drummed her fingers against the edge of the counter and tipped her head. “I get anything for this history lesson?”

     “You get the knowledge that you are amongst the elite. Not everyone can wear the finest clothes and eat the finest foods. _Obviously_. That’s just the reality we live in.”

     “A reality _I_ live in, more like. I don’t care who’s poor and who’s eating from a silver spoon. Society has made way for all types of people,” Sierra said. She leaned in and smiled at him, looking charming in spite of the knives in her mouth. “Now. Is that all?”

     Mortimer chuckled again, though he did lean back out of her immediate vicinity. “That is that for our history and all. However, I do wish to reiterate that we were not always refined. I say ‘refined’ as an insult, a touch of venom amongst a fine dish of history. We were rich in name only, but we had pride. We were a fine people of the most discerning of tastes.

     “Majorie, our founder, is a sharp woman, but she considers our past spotty. Shameful. She thinks that who we were before _we_ were the White Glove Society a dark secret. I agree that it is a secret, yes, but not as disgraceful as she does.”

 _‘Here we go. Brainwashing slavers,’_ Sierra bet in her mind. “So, what _exactly_ is your ‘shameful past’, Mr. Mortimer?”

     “Mortimer is just fine, my dear, and though I suspect you’re heartier than most folks, I doubt you’ll be able to… stomach the truth of the matter.”

     He smiled towards the end, and Sierra grabbed onto his words for future reference. “Sierra’s just fine— and try me. I actually _live_ out in the Mojave. You don’t. You only hear whispers of the cruelty. I see it.”

     “Fair enough,” he said; his tone, however, spoke a challenge. “We, before we moved and were newly labelled the White Glove Society, were fine connoisseurs of dining on flesh. I can’t think of a more disgraceful thing than turning one’s back on such a time honoured tradition.”

     He clicked his tongue and shook his head. Once he was done with his disappointment, he looked back to gauge Sierra’s reaction. “I see you’re shocked. Unsurprising when coming from—”

     “No. I’m not shocked,” she said easily, shrugging up a shoulder to further emphasise her nonchalance.”

     “…Really?”

     “Yeah. I mean. So what? You _used_ to eat flesh. I do sometimes myself.”

     “…You do know that I’m referring to peop—”

     Sierra reached forward and grabbed him by the lapels. She gave him a great toothy smile and made him look at her mouth. “You see these? I didn’t get these on a Sunday walk, friend. There are people out there who eat flesh just like you do, but they’re more… hunter-gatherer types.” She let him go and dusted off his blazer. “And I’m not some shy virgin when it comes to telling people either.”

     “Remarkable,” Mortimer whispered. He sat up straight and adjusted his blazer. Almost automatically, he reached up afterward to adjust his hat. Sierra wanted to smack it off of him. It looked ridiculous on his head. “Tell me: are you from a tribe of… _that_?”

     “Not really. I guess you could call it that, but honestly, it’s a lot more complicated. I hailed from Primm before this happened. Everything else is just a blur to me.”

 _‘Thanks, Legion,’_ she grumbled in her head.

     “Incredible. Wonderful. Well, I do believe I should ask for your help with something—”

     “Wait!” Sierra brought a hand up. A thought came to her mind immediately. She stared at Mortimer suspiciously. “So, you have an oversupply of brahmin meat because that’s not what you prefer…”

     He smiled at her. “A sharp woman, you are. I’m not sure what the rumours are with our supply, but we have a reasonable amount of control over food supply throughout the Strip. It restricts the availability of brahmin, yes, but we do it to maintain a level of exclusivity.

     “You see, we have a chef named Philippe who makes the most _exquisite_ dishes. Truly to die for. However, we were to serve brahmin each and every night, our dishes would go from delicacies to staples. If that were to happen, we would lose our status. The Gourmand might as well become a diner or—” He scoffed derisively. “—a family restaurant.”

     Sierra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my goodness me. And that would just be terrible, right?” she asked sarcastically. “Listen, there’s a man here looking for his son who went missing, and I’m gonna _go out on a limb_ here…” Mortimer folded his arms behind his back and nodded slightly in approval. “…but you’re behind that, aren’t you?”

     “And if I am? What will you do about it?”

     “It’s not about what _I_ will do about it. It’s what the man in the casino will do. He said he’s got his whole staff running about looking for his son, and if that’s not the definition of a red flag for you, I don’t know what is.”

     Mortimer closed his eyes and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Let him search. He won’t find his son.”

     “Y’know, that’s not exactly _great_ , Mortimer. Slight the wrong person, and the White Glove Society’ll pay for it. The man’s got a bodyguard walking around a shotgun. _In your casino_. You think this man’s afraid to raise some hell?”

     “Aah…” Mortimer’s expression darkened with understand. “Heck Gunderson.”

     “The one and only, my man. Look. You’ve got to be more discreet about this.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “Eat people; that’s fine. Eat whoever the hell you want, but be smart for fuck’s sake. This is the only time where I can use Vault-Tec as a good example of how to get away with shady stuff.”

     She drew in a deep breath. “Don’t take prisoners; don’t take run away slaves. _Don’t_ take NCR and especially don’t take tourists or transients.”

     Mortimer sneered at her. “You knocked out most of my clientele.”

     “Nope. You’ve got degenerates, disgraced gang members, adult orphans, and even better _Legionnaires._ ” She smiled deviously.

     “The _Legion_?” Mortimer’s eyes widened. “That’s bold, but we don’t have the fire power to take them on.”

     “You don't need firepower. You need smarts. You need just one person to lay down a fine trap, and just like any organised force around here, Legionnaires run patrols. You just gotta catch one off guard, strip them of their armour and weapons, and they’re all yours.”

     He huffed. “And how do you suppose we _find_ someone to take out these Legion people?”

     “You got me.” She smiled and opened out her arms. “And if you’re not the only person with a taste of the, ah… _daring delicacies,_ then maybe you all can find mercs to do your dirty work too. Pay well; organise a pick up spot; get your meat. Done and done.”

Mortimer hummed and nodded. He took her in again, this time appraising her as an ally. Sierra still didn’t like it, but she let it pass this time.

     “I’ll think about it. And what do you think I should do about the boy?”

     “That’s not my problem.” She pushed away from the counter. “So, what do you say about helping my friend?”

     “Hm… I’m interested. Speak with Majorie and tell her you have my support on this matter. I’m sure she’ll bring it up with the others for discussion.”

     “Solid.” Sierra was about to walk away when:

     “Oh, and Sierra.”

     “Yes?” She turned back, placing her hands on her hips.

Mortimer lifted his chin slightly, putting on airs and summoning up his most dignified presence. God, he was exhausting.

     “Consider yourself an honourary member of the White Glove Society. I’ll be your official sponsor. Should anything go wrong, you may speak with me about it.”

     She thought to decline it, but it would be interesting to have eyes and ears on a place like this. Sierra nodded slowly. “Sounds good. Thanks then.”

     “You’re welcome.”

     “Oh!” Sierra clapped her hands together. Mortimer gave her a curious look. “Mind telling me where Majorie is? I don’t want to get lost.”

     Mortimer chuckled. “Sure.”

Sierra pulled her bandana up over her mouth again as Mortimer gave her instructions. She repeated them in her head before nodding sharply. She gave a sharp salute over her head before heading to her new destination. This place was bizarre, beautiful, and heaping full of secrets. It might not have been brainwashed, courtly zombies, but this was the next best thing.

Ah. Sierra was excited.


End file.
